


it was all motivated by chasing skirt

by kattyshack



Series: snowflakes [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Matchmaking, Meet-Cute, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 04:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12268521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattyshack/pseuds/kattyshack
Summary: prompt fill (for @goodqueenalys, but really i did this to myself): inspired by some kit harington interview where he said what has since become the title of this ficactual synopsis: Theon dares Jon to take the student centre’s entire supply of condoms, and then drop them in front of the first girl he sees. Go figure that girl just happens to be the pretty redhead Jon’s been not-so-surreptitiously mooning over all term.





	it was all motivated by chasing skirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AliceInNeverNeverLand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInNeverNeverLand/gifts).



Jon Snow is not a proud man; he only has a somewhat obsessive need to prove himself. Such a temperament isn’t ideal when you're friends with Theon Greyjoy, but Jon’s made his bed and now he’s going to have to lie in it.

The worst of it is that Theon _knows_ what a determinedly stubborn arse Jon is, and he uses it for his own amusement. Today is yet another exhibit in Jon’s long and storied history of pulling dumb stunts purely because he feels the need to rise to any challenge set before him—and Theon is one imaginative sonofabitch.

Jon is leaving his one o’clock lecture when he checks his phone to see the text, sent some twenty minutes prior:

_Student centre. 3:17pm. Take all the condoms._

**What for? I’m pretty sure it’s too late to stop the rampant plague of STDs you’ve unleashed upon campus.**

_First of all, fuck you._  
_Second, I always practice safe sex. Just because I’m not celibate like you doesn't mean I’m irresponsible._  
_Dick._  
_Third, because I dare you, that’s “what for.”_

**Why do I have to get there at 3:17? What a weird time.**

_Because I know you got out of class at 3 and it’ll take you approx 17min to walk to the student centre._

**What’s with the timestamp? Why not just tell me to go straight there after class?**

_Why not just shut the fuck up and do what I say_  
_Or are you backing down from the KRAKEN CHALLENGE?_

**Quit calling it that, it’s idiotic. Just call it a dare.**

_You’re not really in a position to negotiate here, Snowblower._

**I hate you.**

_I don’t care?_  
_Student centre. 3:17. Take all the condoms, then drop them in front of the first girl you see. Idc if it’s the dean, if it’s one of the custodial staff, if it’s Old Nan from the library—DROP. THE. RUBBERS._  
_(The obvious exception is if the first girl you see is like a Scout or something. In which case save the condoms and get me some biscuits or whatever they’re selling)_  
_CHALLENGE EXTENDED_

**Sigh. Challenge accepted.**

_Smashing._  
_Remember: pics or it didn’t happen_

It’s not the most ludicrous of dares, Jon decides as he makes his way to the student centre. Theon has issued far more unreasonable—not to mention questionably legal—dares in the past. Dropping a load of condoms in front of anybody is sure to be embarrassing on some level, but it’s manageable. Even when Jon has to ask his heretofore unknown victim to take a selfie with him, per Theon’s instructions, he’s sure the mortification will fade once he explains that he’s just an idiot doing the bidding of another idiot.

Boys will be boys, right?

* * *

Sansa Stark doesn’t know what Theon’s dumbarse is on about, but her natural curiosity is bound to get the better of her—a fact that Theon, who has known her all her life, is well aware of. He’s used it to his benefit plenty of times over the years, always for the sake of a cheap laugh. But to be fair, Sansa can’t blame him entirely when she goes along with it every time, without fail.

She can’t imagine what he’s up to this time. Probably nothing good, but she goes against her better judgment and replies to his text, anyway.

_You tutoring? Second floor of the student centre, right?_

_**Right. I’ll be out by 3:15 today, though, so if you’re looking to save your plummeting academic career, it’ll have to wait ‘til next week.** _

_I’m an honors student! What have you done with YOUR life?_

_**Wasted it on boys like you.** _

_Love, boys like me aren’t a waste—we’re an experience._

_**You’re a dime a dozen.** _

_You wound me._  
_But still, out of the altruistic goodness of my heart, I’ll attempt to make amends for my entire sex and tell you that your salvation will be awaiting you at the following coordinates:_  
_Outside the health office. 3:17pm_

_**Those aren’t coordinates.** _

_Semantics, my dear._

_**Are you seriously trying to set me up with someone via some warped meet-cute?** _

_You have no idea what I’m trying to do. But we both know that you’re gonna try to figure it out. I’m just giving you the necessary tools to do so._  
_Like a treasure hunt_  
_Or a murder mystery dinner_  
_A well-plotted novel, even. You like novels. Consider this foreshadowing._

_**Fine.** _

By no means is Sansa “easy.” But when it comes to some vaguely titillating scrap of non-information, she can’t help but chomp at the bit to find out more. She has this all-encompassing need to know things; she hates being kept in the dark, no matter how inconsequential it ends up being—and Theon’s pranks are always inconsequential. But she eats them up, anyway.

Sansa has accepted this about herself, and as far as she’s concerned, her self-awareness is enough of a virtue that it compensates for her lack of self-control well enough.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but Sansa is a strong, independent young woman. If she wants to succumb to Theon’s potentially dangerous bread crumbs, then that’s her cross to bear, and she’ll do so as gracefully as she does everything else. But when her phone dings again, she foregoes grace to relieve her impatience, if only momentarily.

_You won’t regret it, Stark._

_**Bite me, Greyjoy.** _

* * *

Almost immediately, Jon regrets accepting this particular challenge.

Oh, taking the condoms is easy enough—he’s surely not the first person who’s dumped the whole basket into his bag and leave—but as fate would have it, the first girl he happens to see upon his departure is one he knows. Or one he’s been acutely aware of for the past two months, anyway, but he’d never plucked up the courage to actually speak to her.

She’s just so damn _pretty_ , Jon’s brain turns to white noise and he forgets every word he’s ever known. And now she’s walking down the steps towards him and he’s far too stubborn to back down from Theon’s dare. So he heaves a deep, internal sigh, and drops his open bag practically at her feet.

Sansa’s eyebrows shoot up when the condoms scatter across the floor. She looks at the unfairly handsome guy she’s seen hanging ‘round the art studio all term, then at her watch— _3:17 on the dot_ —and then back to the latest object of her sexual fantasies.

They can’t possibly know it, but at precisely the same moment, they both think: _Fuckin’ Theon._

“Big plans tonight?” Sansa breaks the silence. She spares the condoms another glance before settling back on Jon, whose face is nearly as red as her hair. “This is pretty ambitious.”

“Yeah—I mean no,” Jon splutters. Of course _she’s_ not spluttering; it’s just his luck to be a nervous wreck in the face of this model of poise and perfection. “It’s just—I mean—it’s a dare, I’m doing a dare.”

“Is the dare to sleep with approximately—” Sansa casts a quick, calculating look around the floor— “forty-two people?”

For a moment, Jon thinks he might say that, no, the dare is to sleep with her, specifically, forty-two times, but he shakes it off as Theon’s influence. Theon would certainly say something of the sort, and Jon isn’t particularly interested in following in his friend’s footsteps. Taking his dares had proven a painful enough idea.

So instead, he just splutters some more—you know, like an idiot.

“No, it’s just—I mean—” _Good lord, man, what DO you mean?_ — “it’s this stupid thing I’ve got going with a friend of mine, and—well… He’s an arse.”

“Hmmm.” Sansa presses her lips together and narrows her eyes. “Your friend wouldn’t happen to be Theon Greyjoy, would he?”

Jon blinks, surprised. “Uh—yeah, he would be. Do you know him?”

“Oh, I’ve known Theon a _long_ time.” Sansa rolls her eyes, but the smile she shoots him is warm; it makes Jon’s insides feel fuzzy. “I’m Sansa.”

“Jon.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, then glances around the floor. “I should, uh, probably clean this up…”

“I can help,” Sansa offers, and before Jon can tell her there’s no need, she’s crouched on the floor next to him, scooping foil packets into a neat pile. “So what else does this dare entail? Knowing Theon, I’ll bet he doesn’t trust you to just drop a bunch of condoms and run. He prefers to bask in the embarrassment he’s caused.”

“Right,” Jon chuckles, only a little because he really _is_ embarrassed. “I’ve got to take a selfie with you to prove it, if you don’t mind.”

Sansa would gladly take all sorts of pictures with him, but he seems nervous so she doesn’t hit on him so brazenly just yet, instead saying “Not at all,” and his shoulders visibly relax.

“Thanks.” Still on the floor, Jon pulls his phone from his pocket and swipes to the camera. He looks at her again, awkward and bashful as ever. “Um…”

Sansa takes pity on him and angles her head towards his when he holds the phone aloft. She smells like citrus and he smells like mint, and it leaves them both flushed and a bit dizzy—dazed, even, and they shake their heads a little in unison in an attempt to regain some composure.

On impulse, Sansa grabs a condom from the pile between them, holds it up, and flips the camera off just as Jon snaps the photo. He laughs, and the camera catches that, too.

“That’s a good one,” Sansa says, looking over Jon’s shoulder at the result.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “You’re really—um, I bet any photo of you’s a good one.”

He doesn’t look at her when he says it, but his face is red again, and Sansa feels her own heat up when she thanks him.

“Um…” Jon clears his throat as he busies himself with his phone, attaching the selfie to a text. Sansa sees the contact name and grins.

“‘Dickbag’?”

“Yeah, well, I hate him. Exhibit A.” Jon brandishes a foil packet. “I guess I could take these back to the student centre. It’s not like I’m going to use them.”

“Perhaps not all forty-two,” Sansa says thoughtfully, then shoots him a sly wink. She hasn’t got forever to turn on the charm, and he seems to like her as much as she does him. _Maybe Theon’s not so useless, after all._ “You might want to keep a handful, at least.”

Jon’s head whips around to look at her. His throat bobs. “Um—you—you want to, uh—really?”

Sansa waggles her own phone at him. “You’re not the only one Theon texts, you know.”

“What’d he say to you?”

“Apparently you’re meant to make up for all my past romantic disappointments,” she confesses. “That sounds like a tall order, I know, but—”

“I think I’m up for it.” Her own confidence encourages his, and Jon allows his gaze to follow the lines of her body so intensely that it makes her shiver. He meets her eye again with a slow grin. “Definitely up for it.”

“Great,” Sansa says, nearly breathless already. She scoops a few condoms from the floor, then grabs Jon’s hand and starts pulling him down the next staircase. “How far is it to your place?”

“Ten minutes.” _Ten long, tortuous minutes…_

Suddenly, Sansa spins on her heel, causing Jon to trip over her feet and slam against her chest. She kisses him, hard and swift, and Jon feels like the ground’s just fallen out from beneath him.

“I couldn’t wait ten minutes to do that,” she tells him, properly breathless now, and Jon thinks he’s well in love with her already.

* * *

Theon Greyjoy wouldn’t call himself a vengeful man, not even now. Setting Jon Snow up with Robb Stark’s sister was simply a means to an end, and orchestrating it so Robb practically walked in on the two of them was the culmination of a decade-long feud that Robb most certainly deserved.

Privately, Theon admits that he couldn’t have foretold how well this would go. He had simply hatched his plan, laid the pieces, and left it to Jon and Sansa to do the rest.

To be fair, though, Theon’s heart really is in the right place, no matter how pissed he is at Robb over what should have been a long-forgotten adolescent debacle. Point of fact, Jon and Sansa are good together; and being as privy to their romantic woes as he is, Theon thought it might do them both some good to meet. He could have introduced them in a more conventional way, sure, he thinks over the sound of something—or some _one_ , more like—being slammed against Jon’s bedroom wall.

But where’s the fun in convention when Robb walks into the flat with that Stark-patented look of disapproval on his face?

He looks at Theon, who’s sitting on the counter, eating the world’s largest bowl of cereal, and looking as though he’s having the time of his life.

“What the hell is that?” Robb wants to know, waving a hand in the direction of Jon’s room.

“Uh—” Theon chuckles through a mouthful of Count Chocula. “You really can’t tell? Fuck, mate, when’s the last time you got laid?”

Another slam, a muffled curse, and female laughter follow Theon’s question. So if there was further doubt in Robb’s mind as to what he was hearing, it’s now well and truly dashed.

“Oh, seriously?” Robb grimaces. “Jon’s hooking up with some girl? Quit grinning, you prick, you know I wanted to set him up with my sister.”

Theon only grins wider. “Maybe that’s who’s in there with him.”

“Sansa tutors on Wednesdays.”

“She finished at three-fifteen today.”

“How d’you—” Robb looks from the closed door to his smirking friend, realization dawning. _“Theon—”_

“I dunno what you’re looking at me like that for,” Theon remarks airily. “I’m not the one plowing your sister right now.”

There’s an obvious tic in Robb’s jaw. If Theon didn’t know him so well, he’d worry that he was about to be punched. But Robb’s nothing but a big teddy bear, really, so Theon eats his cereal and doesn’t trouble himself over his friend’s twitching hands.

“What? They’re like made for each other.” He points his spoon at Robb, almost accusatory, like this whole thing is his own fault for not introducing Jon and Sansa himself. “I wanted them to hook up.”

“So why not let me introduce them?” Robb demands, trying with all his might _not_ to listen to the sounds coming from Jon’s room. “Like I said I was going to do!”

Theon shrugs and crunches on another spoonful of cereal. “This way’s funnier. Oh, and you scratched my copy of _Celine Dion’s Greatest Hits_ and never replaced it.”

Robb throws his hands up, torn between disgust and exasperation. “That was ten years ago, man! Let it go!”

“Buy me another album.”

“Jesus.” Robb pats down his pockets in search of his wallet. If replacing Theon’s god damn CD will give him something to do that doesn’t involve thinking about what Jon’s doing to his sister behind that door, he’ll take the opportunity. “Jesus. Fuck. Where’s my wallet—”

“Oh. Right.” Theon slurps the milk from the bottom of his now-empty bowl. “I nicked it this morning. It’s in Jon’s room. Bet he’d give it to you real quick, if it meant he could go back to fucking your sister— _OW!_ ”

Nothing but a big teddy bear he might be but, when all else fails, Robb Stark can still throw a mean punch.

* * *

An hour later, Theon is still icing his eye. Robb is fuming as he browses Amazon for a replacement Celine Dion album that meets Theon’s standards (even though they’re _all the same_ , Robb has grumbled multiple times, but Theon keeps whimpering like the pathetic arse he is so Robb’s given up).

The door to Jon’s bedroom clicks open, and Theon and Robb look up to see Sansa stepping into the kitchen, clad in nothing but one of their flatmate’s oversized T-shirts. She’s not fazed in the slightest, greeting them with a wave and a breezy “Hello” as she swipes a beer from the fridge.

 _“Hello?”_ her brother echoes incredulously. “You’ve been shacking up with Jon for the past hour and that’s all you’ve got to say to me?”

Utterly nonplussed, Sansa nods. “Yup.”

Before Robb can protest such a lack of explanation—not to mention propriety and common human decency—Jon’s padded into the kitchen in his boxers, specs askew and hair disheveled. There’s a hickey on his neck, too, _and_ he’s got the nerve to put a hand on Sansa’s hip as he reaches behind her for his own beer.

“What happened to you, Greyjoy?” he asks, leaning against the counter, casual as you please. His hand moves to the back of Sansa’s neck and rubs it, and she practically purrs her approval.

_Smug sons of bitches._

“Robb punched me in the face,” Theon supplies, “just because I had the audacity to point out that you were fucking his sister. If anyone should get punched, it’s definitely you, so you’re welcome.”

“Thanks.” Jon tips his bottle in a toast, then takes another pull from it. He catches Robb’s glare. “Don’t look at me like that, mate. She came on to me.”

Sansa places a hand over her heart. “Guilty.”

The tic in Robb’s jaw starts again. He turns his attention back to his laptop and grumbles some more, “I hate all of you. One of you go get my wallet, I don’t want to step foot in my sister’s sex dungeon.”

“Oh, please,” Sansa scoffs. She takes another swig of her drink. “I’ll get it. I need to grab my jeans, anyway, gotta run out for a bit.”

“What for?” Theon asks. “Only I could go for a Cadbury’s anything, if you’re going to the shop.”

“Sure.” Sansa kisses Jon’s cheek, then plants one on her brother and Theon, too. “I’ll go after I pop by the student centre.”

“What’s at the student centre?” Robb asks, frowning. “You were there all afternoon. Did you forget something?”

Jon smirks, and kisses Sansa’s cheek in turn when she walks past him. “Theon dared me to take all the condoms, but as it turns out we left a few too many behind, didn’t we, love?”

“Oh, for fuck’s—” Robb grits his teeth and goes back to his laptop once more. “I really fucking hate all of you, d’you know that?”

“And to think,” Theon sighs over Jon and Sansa’s chuckles, “if only you’d replaced my Celine Dion ten years ago, none of this would’ve happened. You reap what you sow, you fucking arsehole.”

Robb’s got nothing to say to that, so he just knocks the bag of frozen peas off Theon’s face and onto the floor. Theon sighs again, regarding the peas mournfully, as they’re just out of his reach now. He sweeps a hand towards them and begins a slow but rousing chorus of “My Heart Will Go On.”

“Join me, Snow!” he bellows after half a verse. “I dare you.”

Jon flicks his bottle cap at him, but grins when Sansa flounces back into the kitchen in her jeans and his T-shirt. She chucks a wallet at Robb, who catches it expertly, and then she says to Jon, “Yeah, I dare you, too.”

He sighs, kisses her again, and joins Theon in his rather theatrical rendition of his favorite song. Robb films it, and declares that he’ll use their ballad to the peas as future blackmail.

“Like the next time I catch you defiling my sister,” he quips, and tucks his phone back into his pocket.

Jon pretends to think about it, then winks at Sansa as she heads out the door. He puts his bottle back to his lips and grins. “Worth it, mate.”

Yes, he thinks when Sansa blows him a kiss, as questionable and humiliating as Theon’s dares usually are, his latest is certainly worth every embarrassment that came before.


End file.
